


Like Someone's Watching

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Forever Evil (Comics), Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Biting, Earth-3, Fighting is Flirting, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mirror Universe, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I need to stop letting him do this to me. Dick is a bastard, and I haven't got the self control to stop him, so fights between the two of us never seem to actually end as fights. I should probably fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Someone's Watching

**Author's Note:**

> GAH! I'M LATE! I totally forgot about posting this yesterday, apologies! Anyway, things are good, I'm good, come stalk me on Tumblr, etc. You guys know the drill. The only thing I have to say is that this is actually not connected to my main Earth-3 universe, it does not fit in. So just consider it a random oneshot of porny goodness where they happen to be in Earth-3.
> 
> The **warnings** for this are: Dub-consensual-ish (everything about them is dub-con-ish), light sadism, light masochism, biting, rough-play, and implied/referenced underage. And it's Earth-3 Dick/Jason, which should be its own warning.

The alley wall slams hard into my back, and my breath leaves me in a rush even as I immediately kick out and swing a fist from the opposite direction. Dick laughs, bouncing back and rolling across the asphalt, rising and flipping and _flying_ in the way that only he can, defying all the laws of gravity and physics and _everything_ the natural world knows. His body arcs through the air, a smooth line of black and blue, and I duck to the side and slash up at him with my knife.

Somehow, _someway_ , he dodges while _in_ the air, and then one foot snaps out as he lands and my knife goes spinning into the alleyway. He leaps up at me, grabbing me by the lapels of my leather jacket as I try and recoil and spinning me, slamming me up against the wall again. I thank _god_ that my helmet is as good as it is, even though he's already shattered the area above one side of my forehead, and the mix of white, tech-overlayed vision and normal sight is messing with my perception a bit.

It'd be better to get the damn thing off my head now, but I _can't._ Dick won't give me the _chance_.

One of his smaller knives slips out and rips through my shirt and armor, high on my throat and I can feel the sting of it so it must split skin, and then he's jumping back and _running_ , tossing a grin and a laugh over his shoulder.

_You're it._

I snarl and follow him. Not that I can catch him on my own, especially not as he flips and jumps up the alleys walls and fire escapes like it's _nothing_ , and flings a knife to cut the cable of my grapnel _as_ I shoot it. I abandon it and climb the fire escape by hand, getting to the roof _fast_ but not fast _enough_ to be anywhere near caught up. He leaps off the opposite side, giving me a mocking salute as he twists and _falls_ , and I run across the rooftop. Where I feel like a _moron_ because he's hooked on one of the ornamental bars of the building and spinning back _up_ with momentum, weight crashing directly into the center of my chest.

I feel the gravel of the roof dig into my skin through my shirt as I _slam_ down into it, and even _with_ my helmet I'm dazed for a few moments. Long enough for Dick to perch down over me and slide both my hands into a pair of metal cuffs, pinning them above my head with one hand and a knife between the link of chain between. I glare up at him as he grins down, his other hand hooking underneath my chin and unlocking my helmet with a familiarity I wish to _god_ he didn't have.

It comes off with a click and a hiss that doesn't matter because it wasn't _actually_ sealed anymore, and he tosses it to the side.

I _always_ wear a domino mask underneath it while in Gotham, but it's shredded on the same side my helmet was shattered. He lets me keep the rest of it anyway as he leans down and bites into my bottom lip, his body curling and bending in ways that shouldn't be possible. Fucking gravity-defying _asshole_. He bites down until I let loose a pained grunt into his mouth, and then kisses me properly. It's all teeth and tongue, the hand not holding my wrists down looping around to drag me up by the back of my neck, the gloves curling into the hair at the base of my skull.

My breath comes short and sharp, and for just a second I lose all desire to fight him. Just a second.

Then he lets me go and his hand slips down between us and unbuckles my belt.

" _No,_ " I snarl, jerking against him and twisting my hips to get away from the hand pulling my zipper down and reaching inside to oh _fuck, god_. "We're on a _rooftop_ ," I snap at him, arching even though I don't want to, even though this is the _worst_ place and the gravel _hurts_ and this is a _bad_ idea.

"So what?" he counters, and the words die on my tongue as he grips and _strokes_ , the glove covering his hand smooth and a fucking amazing contrast to the rest of him. "Anyone looking is just going to assume I'm torturing you, right?" he asks, with a smirk and a flash of too bright, too _sharp_ teeth. "You're my _enemy_ , aren't you Red Hood?"

" _Fuck_ ," is all I manage to spit out, and his hand is twisting and pulling in all the ways I can't fight, could _never_ fight, and he lets go of my wrists — leaving me pinned only by the knife — to slip his second hand into my hair and bring me up for another kiss. "Dick, _no,_ " I say, pulling away and shaking my head, trying to avoid _everything_ he is.

He purrs and never slows his hand, the touch almost painful and _fuck_ if that isn't just the way I — secretly, to _no one_ but him and myself — like it. I cry out and he muffles it in his mouth, teeth nipping and I'm pretty sure there's blood between us but _that_ isn't new either. I arch against him, pulling and _ripping_ the knife from the ground, reaching up and I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do until I reach him and my hands twist into the fabric of suit, _dragging_ him closer to me.

I arch, twist us both in a way that would make Bruce proud and _slam_ him onto his back, gaining the upper hand. Because he _lets_ me. He pulls up beneath me, one leg sliding around the back of my thighs and hooking me closer in a way that I can't resist, his hand hard in my hair and pulling me down against him.

As _if_ we could be mistaken for _fighting_.

I try and brace on the ground but he knocks my arms out from under me, crashing our mouths together as I fall and arching up against me, and this was _not_ what I was going to do when I was out from under him. The hand on me leaves, curling around my back to grab my ass and pull my hips down against his own. He makes a bright pleased noise and _rolls_ against me, and I choke into his mouth and gasp.

"Just _let me have it,_ Jason," he says into the fractions of space between our kisses, and I snarl and try to pull away. Another roll of his hips, pressing the muscle of his thigh up against me in a way that's so _perfect_ it's _wrong_ , and a wrench of the hair in his hand so my head is held down against his shoulder stops _that_. Another twist and I'm on my back again, Dick firmly on top of me and his hand sliding from my ass back to the front of me, slipping into my undone jeans again.

"Get _off,_ " I snap, even if it ends in a breathy groan, shoving up at him with my bound hands. He ducks and slips easily into the gap between them, straightening up so my arms are trapped where they're now looped around his waist. Damn _handcuffs_.

"That's the _point_ , yeah," he says with a laugh, and with _my_ hands trapped both of _his_ are free to drop down and _yank_ at my jeans, pulling them down my hips.

"Son of—" is all I get out before he cuts me off with a hand on my dick, and his second slides around my hips and back to my ass and he _wouldn't, right?_ Not even Dick would fuck me out on a rooftop in Gotham. His hand hooks under my knee and drags my leg upwards and I panic for just a second. "Fuck, Dick _don't!_ "

He leans sideways and bites me through the denim of my jeans, his teeth sharp and hard enough to hurt even through it, and it's _wrong_ how good it feels, my back arching a bit off the gravel and my hands clenching to fists behind his back. "Relax, Jason," he says with a grin. "Just a bit of fun, I won't fuck you unless you beg me for it."

That's not a promise, not really. Dick's pretty damn good at making people beg. His hand tightens on me and _twists_ until I give a choked cry, back arching high and staying that way as he strokes at me with practiced skill. He makes a satisfied little noise, pushing down into me and laying biting kisses into the denim-covered skin of my inner thigh, until he leans down — and backs shouldn't _bend_ that far — and sinks his teeth into the thin, sensitive skin over the bone of my hip on the left side. I gasp and my hips jerk up into him.

I've always wondered just how badly fucked my head is that I _enjoy_ Dick at his roughest. Not his _nastiest_ , because I'm not a fan of knives and if he ever tried to bring one around me I'd turn it on him before I let him use it, but at his roughest, where he's all teeth and nails and the press and arch of a body against me until it _hurts_. Until I go home limping and _raw_ , covered in scratches, scrapes, and the imprints of his nipping, _biting_ mouth. I've slept with a lot of people, fucked and been fucked and done all kinds of things that would make most people blush or cringe away. But no one compares to Dick. No one else can hold me down and do this to me, most people couldn't even _try_.

Not with strength, because when it comes down to it I _am_ physically stronger than Dick, but with the flexibility and the _skill_ of someone who _knows_ how I work and how I fight. Who could take me apart if he wants to, and chooses just to _have_ me instead.

Dick gives a low groan, and I wish I could see underneath his mask because I bet his eyes are hazy and _alive_ , burning bright with lust but glazed over because of that same feeling. I can only see the curve of his smirk, teeth sinking a little further into my flesh until I'm sure that he's broken skin, and I can only press up into his mouth and silently _beg_ for more. My hands drag along his back, and he arches under my touch like a cat, his teeth biting and _fuck_ , there are tears in my eyes from how much it hurts and how _good_ it feels.

" _Dick_ ," I plead, and he lets me go. His teeth are stained with blood, mine, and he lays another sharp bite farther up my waist. With the way he's bent I can pull my arms higher up, out of the trap around his waist, and I curl both of them into his hair, the chain of the handcuffs stretched tight between them. He releases the skin between his teeth and his hand lets go of my leg, letting it fall down as he leans down over me and raises those fingers to my mouth.

The gloved fingertips slip past my lips, and I close my eyes and tighten my grip in his hair as his wrist rolls and _thrusts_ fingers into my mouth in mimicry, at the same speed as his other hand is jerking me off. "You're so pretty when you're desperate, Jason," he murmurs, the lines of his body warm against mine and pinning me down with his weight, and I let go of his hair to clutch at the fabric on his back and shoulders. I moan and shudder, any words I might have had swallowed back down. " _Suck_ for me, little wing?" he asks, whispering in my ear, and my grip tightens as my hips jerk helplessly upwards into his hand.

I do what he wants, laving and suckling at the gloved fingers rolling through my mouth, the muscles of my throat working as I swallow and give a shaking moan around them. He gives a pleased sound, his teeth digging at the edge of my jaw. Not hard enough to break skin this time, probably not even enough to bruise. Dick doesn't usually like bruising my face, he's kind of a vain _bastard_ like that and likes his partners to stay 'pretty' looking.

His hands move in time with each other, and I choke for a moment as a swell of arousal hits me and drags me sharply upwards towards the end. I arch up against him, hips stuttering, and he laughs into my ear.

" _Yes,_ " he says in a hiss, touch getting just a little rougher in response to my muffled noises and the tension in my frame.

I can't help crying out around his fingers, throat bending backwards and the gravel of the roof digging into my skin. He keeps level with me easily, never pausing but actually speeding up a little, and I _try_ and keep my teeth away from his fingers but I'm not sure that I actually manage it. I writhe, clutching hard enough at his suit that if it were normal fabric, a shirt or anything else, it would rip under my fingers. But it's better than that, and only twists and endures my grip.

" _Break,_ Jason," Dick demands, teeth sinking _hard_ into the side of my throat, and I can't even _try_ to do anything but obey.

I shout around his fingers, arching still and _high_ for a moment as I spill over his hand and my world blacks out for a moment. The feeling spins up my spine and down again, my muscles locking tight in ecstasy so amazing it's _painful_ for what feels like drawn out minutes before the high eases off and I sink back against the rooftop.

When I come fully back to myself his fingers are slipping out of my mouth, and I blink my eyes open and shiver, swallowing thickly and feeling his teeth let go of the skin of my neck. He pushes up, using my chest to brace off of as he ducks under and out from the loop of my arms, and sits back on my thighs. He's got a wicked smirk on his face, a pleased twist of lips that looks like he's _immensely_ satisfied with himself, and the hand that was in my mouth slides down my side to my hip.

Before I fully realize what's happening he's got one of my knives in his hand and he's slicing upwards, and if I wasn't still floating I'd probably have a better chance of dodging but as it is I can only cringe back and wait for the strike to hit me. My shirt rips with a loud noise, and I blink and _stare_ , wasting another precious moment as he neatly, efficiently, slices the front of my shirt off me and rips the rest from my chest. I've got armor on underneath, and the jacket over it, but what the _fuck?_

I stare up at him in confusion and he gives a small, careless shrug. "You have a jacket, and my costume is black." The shreds of my shirt swipe over his gloved hand, and I breathe in sharply in something between embarrassment and a desire too worn out to really be arousal. I think I might twitch.

He tosses the shreds of my shirt aside, a flick of his hand and a spitting lighter later and they're on fire, too. I stare, kind of surprised by the sudden fire until my exhausted mind gives me an answer for it. Removal of evidence, for anyone who might have been looking. More habit than anything else, at this point. He looks down at me, lifting his weight for just a moment to pull my jeans back up and tuck me back inside them, closing the zipper and buckling my belt like nothing even happened. Except the smell of sex is heavy in the air, even if smoke is starting to contaminate it.

He leans over me, the graceful lines of his form smooth and arching, dipping in a way that I've only ever seen the match of in Catwoman. "I think you owe me one, Jason," he murmurs into the space between us, hands braced against the rooftop on either side of my head. My hands jerk almost automatically, the single loop of chain in the handcuffs not even _starting_ to give because these are the handcuffs of the _Owl_ , and built for more than a human's strength.

"I don't think holding me down on a rooftop in the middle of Gotham counts as a favor," I manage, and Dick's laughter is bright and free, and he rocks back and to his feet in an instant, standing over me. He leans down, grabbing me by each side of my jacket and _dragging_ me up as I twist under him, scrambling to get my feet under me until he has my on my knees, his hands curled into my hair.

"Oh _Jason,_ " he says softly, at odds with his smirk, "if you didn't _like_ it you wouldn't _let me_." I'm not really surprised at where this looks like it's heading. Dick doesn't give without taking, and while he might get off on causing pain he prefers the actual _taking_ to playing and this isn't exactly something _new_ to me. "How about you use your _teeth_ , little wing?"

I blink up at him, then snarl. "I can't pull your suit apart with my fucking _teeth_ , Dick. They're a little complicated and you damn well _know_ that."

" _Tim_ has," he answers with a slow smirk, and I recoil a little bit and _stare_ in shock.

"He _what?_ " I demand, and Dick laughs again, fingers twisting and tugging in my hair to pull my head a little farther up.

"He's got quite the _mouth,_ Jason," Dick purrs, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips, and then another, smaller one. I pretty much just stare at him, unable to really form coherent sentences or try and put my thoughts together well enough to think past the shock, anger, _jealousy_ , and something that I don't want to look too closely at because it might be _want_. "Took him thirty minutes studying the blueprints of our suits and _two_ to take it off once he figured it out." Dick makes a small sound that's a bit like a moan against my lips, straightening back up. "I'll get him to show you sometime."

"What?! _No,_ " I protest, sharply. "He's just a _kid_ , Dick." I can't actually _remember_ precisely how old Tim is, not right now though I will _damn_ well be looking it up later when I can think, but I'm pretty sure he's not legal yet. Not like that's _stopped_ Dick before, but that's not the _point_.

Even under the mask, I can see the arch of one of his eyebrows as Dick gives a smile. "No younger than _you_ were when you came to _me_ , Jason," he counters, and makes a sharp noise when I open my mouth to continue arguing with him. "We can have this talk _later_ , Jason. You've got _work_ to do."

And we're back around to what started this. I clench my jaw, trying to ignore the distracting touch and tug of his hands in my hair. "I'm not opening your suit with my _teeth_ , Dick. Go to _hell_."

Dick gives a small shrug and lets go of me with his right hand, still holding me as his hand drops to his own crotch. The suits aren't one piece — the excuse is that sometimes you just need to _piss_ when you're working, but I really think that it was _Dick's_ fault — and with a bit of work they do come undone, but the straps, hooks, and connections holding them together aren't easy to pull apart and we make _very_ sure no one even knows that it's possible. There wouldn't be much worse than one of our enemies figuring out that they could essentially pull our pants down if they did it right. So only us Owls know.

Bruce, Dick, Tim—

Holy _fuck_ , Tim actually got one of these things apart with his _teeth?_ I knew the kid was smart and learned _fast_ — even faster than I do, but I'll deny that till my second dying breath — but that's still pretty ridiculously impressive. I don't even know where I would _start_ on something like that.

…

It's wrong on _so_ many levels that the thought of Dick's surprised, _pleased_ , approval of a move as impressive as that, and the reward Tim probably got for it, makes me _really_ jealous.

The suit comes undone, the armor and fabric falling away, and I can't help my gaze falling to the skin underneath. I swallow in automatic reaction, and Dick makes a pleased little noise and reaches in past the tight, dark blue briefs — to match the color scheme, in case of torn fabric — to wrap a gloved hand around himself and pull it free. I swallow again.

It's been… a long time. Not from anyone, sex is a release of mine that I don't give up for anyone, but it's been a long time since I've been with _Dick_. At least a few months.

I really shouldn't want any of this. I should be able to get the hell off my knees, tear myself away from Dick's hands and _snarl_ at him that thank you very much I'm perfectly fucking _fine_ without him. But I can't, it would be a lie, and I'd end up right back here because Dick can see right through me every single time. It doesn't matter what I do, or what I don't, Dick knows me almost as well as Bruce does, which is still better than I know myself.

"It's alright, Jason," Dick says with a small, _wicked_ grin. "You're still better than him at _this_ , I swear. You've got a _passion_ for it." Which is a fucked up way of making me competitive but it _works_ so _damn_ him.

I lean forward, teeth bared but Dick doesn't even _flinch_ or _twitch_ away, just lets me open my mouth as I slide down over the head of his cock and flatten my tongue along the bottom. He gives that same bright, startled little laugh he always does, like he always forgets how good it feels, and his other hand returns to my hair, stroking along my scalp more than pulling and letting me set my own pace. Why would he have to control me when I'm doing it willingly?

I swallow and slide deeper, raising my hands to press against his thighs and fist the fabric of them in my hands, _pulling_ down as I lean in. His taste hits my tongue and I give a half-aware pleased little hum, running my tongue over and under and _sucking_ as hard as I'm capable of because I'm not the _only_ one of the two of us who likes a little pain. Dick likes _giving_ it more, but an edge of it when he's playing even _vaguely_ bottom is a surefire way to wind him towards the edge faster.

" _Jason,_ " he moans over my head, as completely unrestrained as he always is, and I slip down deeper over his cock, swallowing and hearing him give a sharp little cry, fingers tugging at my hair. Not hard enough to want me to pull off — he would _yank_ , if he wanted me off of him — but just because he _pulls_ , that's what he _doe_ s. It's like biting.

He should consider himself fucking lucky that I _don't_ bite, or I'd be hurting him for making me competitive. I don't appreciate being played, even if it is pretty much totally blunt and straightforward. I don't _like_ being made to do things, and I like it even less when it's Dick provoking me because he _can_ , not because he actually thinks I won't do what he wants. There isn't much I wouldn't do if he asked me… or told me. I'm not big on taking orders usually, but Dick's a special case most of the time. He makes you _want_ to please him, like the world revolves around him and you should just follow in the spin.

He makes another startled noise when I slip all the way to the base of his cock, ignoring my gag reflex with total ease. It doesn't mean he's _actually_ surprised, Dick knows damn well what I can do, but it's just the flavor of the noise he always makes in moments like these. More like he's surprised that someone else is capable of making _him_ make noise, and it's not happening the other way around. Like he's never quite sure he's going to make all those moans, and cries, until he actually does. It's a point of pride, not going to lie.

Though I've got no idea if he only does it with me, or if that's something he does with the rest of his lovers too.

Dick's not monogamous in the slightest — takes what he wants _when_ he wants it and moves from person to person like he's still trying to hunt something down — but it's not _just_ my own stupid naivete speaking that I think I'm probably the closest thing he has to a _real_ lover. Not just because I'm the only one he keeps here in Gotham, his _home_ — apart from _Tim_ , apparently, _Christ_ — but because I'm the only one that he doesn't, _can't_ , shut out when he's done with me.

As much as I _hate_ thinking about it, I'm an Owl. I'm one of Bruce's former Talons and I always will be, even if I usually don't side with them or work for him anymore. That's an allegiance that's never going to go away. It's going to be branded into my soul and part of my public image as long as the world keeps turning. There goes Red Hood, the guy who _used_ to work for the Owlman.

But I'm still _one_ of them, I'm part of our messed up 'family', and Dick can't shut me out like he does people who _aren't_ in our family. With his other lovers, temporary or semi-permanent, he can shut down and turn all smiles, teeth, and knives on them. _Dare_ them to try infringing on Owlman's territory or to try _touching_ him again and see how many fingers they lose for it. It _never_ pays to forget that underneath his smiles and his carefree attitude, Dick is a _killer_ just as much as the rest of us. He just _enjoys_ what he does more than most.

Dick _can't_ do that to me, and he's never tried. He can't shut me out without Owlman's support, and Bruce won't shut me out as long as I'm still useful to him. I like to think that I see parts of Dick that only our 'family' gets to, and that I see even more because I've been _his_ for so much longer, maybe even the longest. At the end of the day Dick knows I'd never _really_ turn on him, or on Bruce. Maybe I snarl and snap and act like I'm their biggest enemy, their most _dangerous_ , but I would cut the throat of anyone who tried to force me to sell them out long before I'd do it.

There's no _price_ for this kind of loyalty, and I was raised and taught to be part of this family. Dick will _always_ be able to control me, just like Bruce can.

So I like to _believe_ that Dick considers me a lot more important than most of his other flings, even his semi-permanent threesome thing with Harper and that Tamaranean alien he teams up with sometimes. After all, I'm one of the few people trained nearly as well as he is, and I only say _nearly_ because Dick's got that whole 'I can defy gravity and physics because apparently I have no bones and don't weigh anything' thing, and unfortunately for me I can't _do_ that. I have to actually do normal acrobatics, like a _normal_ person who can't fly.

Dick arches and cries out into the night, and I get about a half a second of worrying about if anyone's listening before refocusing on what I'm doing. So _what_ if anyone is? Good for them, get a little action in their lives, a little glimpse behind the curtain of masked life.

It's not like this is a _secret_. Everyone knows that Dick is desirable, and _attractive_ , and likes to fuck or be fucked by most things that move if given the chance. A _lot_ of people have made the mistake of thinking that means he can be distracted by sex, or that they can take without asking _really_ nicely, on their knees. Dick's hurt a _lot_ of people for touching him without permission, and anyone who knows him goes about their day and laughs at the _idiot_ who thought Dick was just a pretty face and a great body.

He's _so_ much more dangerous than that. Always, forever.

I revel in the shudder I can feel in Dick's thighs, curving my mouth around his cock and dragging my teeth lightly down the bottom of it — painful but he _likes_ it — to make him give another of his startled cries and lean over me, his hands clenching and releasing in my hair like he can't decide if he wants to grab, or pull, or stroke. He probably can't.

I slide my hands up his thighs and down again, not bothering to hold back the snarl in my throat at the fact my hands are still cuffed together and I can't touch him the way I want to. He twitches and gives a high-pitched little gasp as the vibrations of my snarl reach his cock, and I can feel it throb inside my mouth. _I'm_ not a metahuman or a teenager anymore, so I'm too worn out to be hard again, but this is enough to send pleasure singing down my spine anyway.

Not to get hard, not even close, but because Dick makes the _best_ noises I've ever heard and it would be _impossible_ for someone to ignore them.

" _Jason_ ," he gasps, fingers making up their mind and clenching down _hard_ into my hair, his gloves scraping against my scalp and if they were _nails_ I'd be in trouble but he can't get the same force to scratch me while behind the fabric covering his fingers. I look up at him, along the skintight black costume up to where he's looking _down_ at me, the shudders of his frame easy to see. If I could see his eyes I know they'd be bright, wide and _alive_ , because the expression on his face — like he's a step away from laughter — is the one that matches up with those eyes.

One of his hands forcibly flattens out, smoothing back over my skull, and his voice is shaky when he speaks. "My Jason," he says, with a particularly strong tremble of his muscles, "always _mine_." The declaration is a _demand_ , not a question, and his mouth circles into a small ring when he moans, his lips pulling back a moment later to bare his teeth.

I clench my hands in the fabric covering his thighs again, holding him and taking a probably overly large amount of pride at the trembling in the muscles under my hands. The fact that I can make _Dick_ , the deadly killer, shake and _moan_ under my hands like no one's watching — or like someone _is_ , because even though no one's _said_ it we all know Dick's an exhibitionist — is a serious ego booster.

I _knew_ I was good, I never had _any_ doubts about that and no one ever said otherwise, but this is a special level of _good_.

Dick jerks forward, pressing into my mouth as he arches back, hands tightening even further in my hair but not _pushing_ like others might, not _holding_ me to him. A loud, _desperate_ cry echoes into the night, and then he's _laughing_ as he swells and spills in my mouth, and I close my eyes and hold him still as I swallow it down. Things I don't do for _anyone_ else, but this is _Dick_ and exceptions were _created_ for him. It's not like the taste is _bad_ , and there's a certain amount of satisfaction in it, especially because Dick is always so _pleased_ about it.

He leans down over me, hips jerking in small, mostly controlled stutters of movement, the trembling under my hands easing, and Dick's hands loosen and smooth out in my hair.

I draw off slowly, reveling in the small shudders I get as I pull away, and swallow the very last of his release away as I let his slowly shrinking cock slip from between my lips. He makes a quiet gasping noise and leans down, kissing me with _passion_ really not totally appropriate for someone who _just_ came down from an orgasm. I meet it, and he follows my movement without a pause or a flaw as I bend and get my feet underneath me, standing up. I can't draw him close to me like I'd like to, not with my hands still cuffed, so I settle for fisting handfuls of his suit and dragging him in by that, up against me.

He gives a soft laugh — these are his second softest moments, the winner is when he's half-asleep next to you and just _watches_ you with a tiny smile, completely at ease — and leans into me, stretching and arching forward against my body, head resting on my shoulder. I let him stand there for a few moments before wiggling my hands between us and poking at his stomach. He makes a disturbed noise but only gives a huff of breath in answer.

"Dick," I try, "my _hands_ you jackass." I take a glance down and roll my eyes, scoffing. "And put your dick away, _Dick_. Just because you _like_ being looked at…"

"And you like _looking_ ," he answers, rubbing up against me with no apparent heed of the fact that we're still standing on one of Gotham's rooftops, his hands wandering over my clothes and the skin beneath it. Not out of any attempt to arouse me again, not that it _isn't_ a little bit, but because above all else Dick is touch oriented, and running hands over someone, stroking and touching, is just his default mode. He'd be doing it if he were tired too.

I like to think I'm the only person who knows _that_ too, apart from Bruce, probably. Family privileges, and benefits. A touchy-feely Dick.

"Yeah," I answer grudgingly, "but not the _point_ , Dick. Unlock the cuffs."

"Unlock them yourself," he counters, sounding sated and very unwilling to move. At all. _Fuck_.

I shift and crane my fingers, reaching for the EMP lockpick that, I admit, I made specifically to break open Bruce's handcuffs. It's not usually _dangerous_ for me to be in their handcuffs, but I still wanted a way out, just in case. I don't like being made helpless, ever, but especially when it comes to handcuffs. I had enough of that happen the night I died, never again.

I twist my hands to feel for the lock and then slip the makeshift 'key' in, fiddling until I hear it click, and then I hit the button on the EMP and it crackles and spits inside the lock. There's a sharp snap, and suddenly I'm holding half of a broken lockpick and there is _no more keyhole_.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," I snarl, and Dick laughs into my shoulder for a few moments before straightening up and away from me. He tucks himself away, refastening the connections on his suit, as I raise my hands up, examining the cuffs. What the _hell?_ "When did these get updated?" I demand, looking at the sealed off metal where there _was_ a hole. I am not _crazy_ , these cuffs straight up snapped my lockpick in half and _ate_ the other half.

Dick chokes back a laugh and grins at me, reaching forward to zip my jacket up over my shirtless chest. "Yesterday," he answers, patting over my chest briefly before pulling back. "Good luck!"

My head snaps up as he heads for the edge of the roof, a bounce and roll in his step that is half sated and half laughing his _fucking_ ass off on the inside. "Wait," I call after him, taking a step forward. "Dick, you fucking _bastard_ do not _leave me like this!_ "

He shoots me a grin over his shoulder and jumps off the building, and then he's swinging away on a line and I'm staring after him with _cuffed_ hands and at least five _miles_ between me and my nearest safe house, no grapnel, a _shattered_ helmet, and no goddamn _shirt_. And my _knife_ is still in the alley. Fucking _asshole._

"I'm going to kill him," I announce to the rooftop, dropping my hands back down and setting my mouth in a thin line. "This _isn't funny!_ " I shout over the edge of the roof, towards where he vanished, and then shove off the ledge of it with one foot and turn to trudge over to where my helmet is laying, bending to pick it up and fit it over my head before I take a look around, trying to figure out which direction has my closest safe house with enough supplies to get these the hell off my wrists. If I have to _cut_ through these damn things I am going to _murder_ Dick in his sleep.

I grit my teeth, grinding them together and heading for the edge of the building to go reclaim my knife so I can get home and get these _damn_ things off me because I will _not_ be calling Dick to get him to tell me how.

I will _strangle_ him with them first.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go! As always, I hope you enjoyed, please drop me a review and let me know what you thought (honestly, one comment can make a writer's week).


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